Unstoppable
by XSpecter
Summary: An alternate timeline yields a Galactic Federation made up of an alliance between former Covenant races and humans struggling against Zebesian armies. 'Spartans' became Chozo-blooded warriors known as Guardians. Can they Guard against Armageddon, though?
1. The Narrator

_What if..._

You all know the story. Spartan-117, ranked as a Master Chief, singlehandedly fights half of the war to save the galaxy against the Covenant of alien races that sought to exterminate all life in the galaxy through the use of the technology of an extinct, but almost incomprehensibly advanced, civilization, known generally as the Forerunners. Fighting against impossible odds, he beats back their attacks, outnumbered and outgunned at every turn but always inexplicably able to prevail.

_pause_

You all know the story. Samus Aran, bounty hunter and part-alien by blood, continuously foils the intentions of the Zebesian race, an insectoid alien species that prided itself on its love for space piracy, through the use of warrior training and an incredibly sophisticated suit of powered armor developed by a nearly extinct, but almost incomprehensibly advanced, civilization known as the Chozo. Fighting against impossible odds-

_pause_

I'm sorry... you don't really know the story. Not all of it. At least... not in the way you think. There were Spartans, and there was a Covenant, there was a Samus Aran, and the Space Pirates. The Chozo and the Forerunners both exist, so to speak. For what it's worth, I'll just tell you outright: they're one and the same. Didn't see it coming? Think about it. You know the Varia Suit Samus Aran wears? Class 10 combat skin. The Power Suit alone ranks at Class 6. The MJOLNIR armor of the Spartans is perhaps Class 2, if that.

Still taken aback? Xel'Naga. Protheans. Ancients. Alimbics. While they may not have been the same species (not even my own ilk are sure), it is almost certain that all the great ancestral races of the galaxy are, if not the same, then related. My own theory is that they were, themselves, of a covenant, one which expanded far and wide across the universe, seeding knowledge and technological advancements wherever they roamed. Another similarity? The Zerg. The Reapers. The X-Parasite. The Flood. Many of these races yielded a parasitic, murderous (even if only by necessity) engineered organism, synthetic or organic, or were threatened by those that came before. They disappeared when the organisms became uncontrollable. Said parasites went dormant, until something caused them to arise and begin their frenzies once more.

But enough of that. I'm simply here to let you know that bits and pieces of the stories you know as "Halo" and "Metroid", among others, are true. How can they be true at all, if they are fiction? Each are, in fact, pieces of the same puzzle, the same story told to different groups who then proceeded to make their own... erm, dramatizations of what they perceived truth to be. Your dimension saw these stories as little more than that, an exciting but ultimately fictional fabrication designed solely for the purpose of your entertainment.

And who am I, you ask? I am simply a narrator. _The _Narrator, if you wish to get all definite (as is your society's standard). I am the narrator for a world that could have been, that was, that may yet be, or may even exist as the true reality, where this world in which you listen to my words is the fiction. Wouldn't that be quite a change? Ah, but I am not here to bring existential crises to you, my friends, oh no. I only wish to tell a tale, a tale of humanity's endeavor amongst the stars, of a war-seeking Covenant of aliens which made peace with humanity, only to form a Galactic Federation to combat a murderous race of Space Pirates in the then-distant future.

"Spartans" and the Chozo-trained are now both parts of the same elite combat force – the Guardians. Imagine, if you will, a Spartan, physically perfect – _more_ than perfect, by human standards – mixed with the grace and agility of those gifted with Chozo training (for a chosen/compatible few, infused with the blood of the Chozo to become even more adept), and equipped with armors far more powerful than the MJOLNIR system ever was. Such are the Guardians. Dangerous, even when unarmed and unarmored; apocalyptic, when fully equipped for combat.

What could stand in the way of such an unmovable force? The juggernaut of the Space Pirates' Phazon research. I know you've seen rough approximations of Phazon's mutagenic effect through your simple entertainment systems; the real-life effects, however, are unpleasant. Brutally so. Even the Guardians are little match for such bastardizations of nature. The Galactic Federation contributes Sangheili warriors, fierce and on a physical par with Spartans without ANY alterations, and battle-hardened, rock-steady Turian soldiers to hold the line of battle; but they only serve to stem the flow from the leaks that the Guardians are forced to ignore in favor of the bigger picture. Earth, still the cradle of human civilization, teeters on the edge of Armageddon, protected only by a mixed bag of genetic supersoldiers and teenaged walking weapons. Oh, I neglected to mention that there are active Guardians who are but children. The fact sometimes slips my mind, age being relative to me.

This is their story. This is the story of a battle against all that would stand between humanity and its survival. Remember that you haven't escaped this fate, yet, yourselves. If you could, would you fight for your species' survival?


	2. The Aftermath of Battle llll Cover Blown

_Time: 1900 (approximation to Earth timescale)_

_Galactic Federation Colony World _BBH-7

"This is why I love being a Guardian," muttered Ghost, sidestepping a Space Pirate carcass that of which he had just incinerated the head. "Never a dull moment, no sir."

"You talk way too much and way too stupidly, kid," came the answer from the young Guardian's companion – his handler, Spectre. The elder supersoldier glanced at the teenager askew, cocking his eyebrows under his helmet. "I thought they tried to keep smartasses from making it through Hell School."

"I am _not _a kid," Ghost said to himself under his breath. "Oh, well, I guess I just ghosted under the radar, you know?" the young man responded aloud, jokingly, chuckling at his own bad jest – and cutting off abruptly as Spectre pointed his pistol at the rookie's head. "Hey, what's the big--" Ghost began, cutting off when he heard the weapon spew a blast of energy at his face. He cringed, shutting his eyes reflexively, and awaited the scream of some part of his body telling him that he had been shot. Ghost realized that no such reaction was coming, and his next thought was to wonder if he was dead.

"Stop cowering and look behind you, kid," Ghost heard the other man snort derisively. He turned to see a Zebesian keeling over backwards, dead with an energy bolt through its heart. He turned back to the veteran, mouth clenched tightly for fear that he'd say something and, worse still, that his voice would crack from the anxiety. "_That_ is why you are told to always maintain full situational awareness – and the reason all of you _kids_ have handlers. To make sure that you don't die for no reason."

Turning away, Spectre surveyed the landscape silently, shaking his head at the hundreds, _thousands_, of Pirate and Pirate-commanded creatures' corpses that littered the ground for miles around; and then he looked at the defensive line that had been hastily thrown together, holding the colonial capital of this ass-backwards world back from the battle that had occurred on its doorstep. The Pirates were retreating, but not without taking a hefty toll; thousands of GF Space Marines lay dead or incapacitated, and hundreds of the Sangheili warriors, "Elites", who had joined in the battle.

One of these Elites now approached the Guardians, raising a hand in salutation. Jass 'Duramee's four-part jaw gaped slightly as he, too, surveyed the battlefield, before turning back to the two armor-clad soldiers. "It seems that the Zebesians saw this as unimportant overall," the blue-gray alien said in a deep voice, an observation both glaringly obvious and important, in that it proved that the world wasn't a true target of the Pirates' domination... unless it was a ploy to make the Galactic Federation feel more secure and guard the world less heavily. "But nonetheless, we have suffered a fair deal of casualties ourselves."

"I know that; it's kind of hard to miss," Spectre snapped in return, and the Elite's jaw clicked shut. Sighing, he put a hand on the Sangheili's shoulder companionably. "Jass, forgive me for my... mild temper. I am a bit... eh... tired," he decided. Guardians didn't need much sleep, but even for his group's high standards, three standard hours of sleep in the past 80 was pushing the limit. "Come, 542, debriefing. We'll let the Federation military handle this." Jass saluted, hand to chest, and Spectre returned the gesture automatically. "A pleasure working with you, Ultra 'Duramee," he said somberly.

"And you, Guardian Spectre," the Sangheili responded just as formally.

Ghost stopped staring at the alien soldier – a _real_ Elite! – and then grimaced when realized that Spectre had addressed him by his serial number, rather than by callsign. "Okay, _329_, I'm on my way." he replied scathingly to no noticeable effect. Scoffing, he followed the man as he paced towards the city, where a communications suite had been established that provided direct FTL transmission to Federation Command. Nevermind that callsigns weren't recognized until 'graduation' – he _deserved_ it.

* * *

_Time:_ _1332_

_Galactic Federation Homeworld _E-1 ("Earth")

_ Brooding_ was a word that came to mind. So was the term, _sleeping giant_. The 'exchange student' sat with her hand on her chin, elbow on the desk, so completely bored with the education that she had no need for being droned into her head. _That's not even true,_ she said to herself as the teacher began extolling one of the Revisionist Colonization histories – which featured an Earth which fought back against every foe that came against it, winning decisively every time and subverting hundreds of species under the rule of the Galactic Federation, a front for human superiority. Well, the teacher didn't quite say it that way, but it was close enough that she saw no difference.

Emmelynn was her 'name' (not really); she was just a lowly sophomore in a low-tier high school (not really) who had no friends (which, actually, was the case). The last of these would have blown her cover – Guardian of the city of New Chicago, one of the megalopolises of the planet Earth. To effectively hide among its residents, the Guardian strategists had surmised, she would have to insert herself into a position that was befitting of her apparent means.

This meant that, while she could at least live alone (with 'very quiet' and seemingly invisible parents, of course), she was forced to go through the motions of being a high school student lest the Pirates' Eyes marked her as unusual and/or suspicious. She loathed Pirates' Eyes – every Guardian, by nature, did. Humans who had agreed to spy for the Zebesians in exchange, almost inevitably, for protection from the Pirates in the great invasion of Earth that would come (nevermind that they were hastening said invasion), Eyes were a constant threat. They were as inconspicuous as she was supposed to be; more so, for they weren't part-alien by blood.

Emmelynn – unit 505, Callsign Imp and only released from handling two months or so ago – had entered a school population (with the charming words of the Office of Guardian Earth Defense Protocols), wielding little more than a small-caliber energy pistol nestled in a side-mount holster and hidden by her baggy jackets (which, obviously, she never took off by necessity) and a totally indifferent attitude. It was the latter, of all things, which got her noticed, if only as 'that weird new girl' – the perceptions of her would-be peers corresponded with 505 being aloof and high-strung. She quickly adopted her behavior like that of 'shy' classmates, and was generally acknowledged by the other students as just an odd duck. They, of course, didn't know that this duck was packing heat and was more than capable of lifting a good quarter-ton without trying.

Imp looked over her charges quietly, considering the latest bit of news she had received. There was suspicion that the Eyes had somehow figured out that a Guardian was posted in the city, and was also a young Guardian posing as a student. More worrying was that they seemed to be examining 'her' school more carefully than any others, or so the report had said. At any rate, it was an unsettling thought. One of these kids (and they truly _were_ kids, not just adults in young bodies like herself) was double-crossing his or her entire race in exchange for what he thought was survival and would actually end in being completely ignored by the invasion force when he tried to show how loyal he or she was to the Pirates, being killed by Zebesian soldiers who don't know what happens at the top of their military command/control structure.

The digital recreation of the ringing of a bell came over the address system, and she turned off her datapad, drumming on its blank screen idly with her fingers.

"Uh... Emmelynn?" a shy-sounding voice asked.

The Guardian looked up, seeing one of her classmates standing beside her table. From what she gathered, Nickolaus truly was as introverted as the character she was trying to play – but genuinely so. An unremarkable-looking brown-haired youth, Nick always had a nervous expression that she had noticed. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and walk away; she was trying to avoid suspicion.

"Hello, Nick," she said in her native West Midlands accent; speaking with English pronunciation would add to the illusion of foreignness. "Is there something you want?"

"Uh... well, that is... do you want to, like, go get something to eat, or, like, something..." Trailing off, he pursed his lips nervously and watched her almost fearfully.

In spite of herself, Imp laughed to herself, almost giggling, at how cheesy this whole situation was. Nick's face dropped, and he started to hastily turn away, _probably about to go cry in the corner or something, _she thought. "Wait, wait, Nick," she said consolingly, "I was just laughing because of the irony. You know, the most solitary person in the school asking the _other_ most solitary person out on a date."

Shock came over his face, and he shook his head vigorously. "A date? I didn't... I mean, that wasn't what I meant at all! I just wanted to, uh... hang out, that's what it's called, right?"

She repressed her desire to groan. If he really was that lacking in colloquialisms, maybe he really did deserve his position as pariah. Swallowing her desired response, she grinned amiably and nodded. "Yeah, sure, that sounds lovely."

An almost sickingly-relieved expression came over his face, and he stammered a thanks. Idly, the Guardian wondered to herself what had sparked this sudden approach, but dismissed it as she gathered her materials and accompanied him to the door. The pair walked silently through the hallway, neither seeming to want to break the silence, and this lasted until well after they had left the large school complex; he seemed so wrapped up in his own thoughts, in fact, that she actually had to stop him from walking into an intersection through which a fuel-cell powered car – older tech, but still reliable – had just passed.

"Hey, Nickolaus, is everything... you know, okay?" she asked, quietly as befit their apparent shared moodiness. His eyes met hers for a moment, and he looked away.

"I... I don't... let's just keep going, huh?" He made to move again, and Imp had no chance but to accompany him or be left standing alone in a part of the massive city which she had no real reason to be in.

The two young teenagers walked slowly, guided by Nick's slow pace, and Imp found herself looking around curiously. They weren't headed for any diners that she knew of – they were in what seemed to be one of the various low-income housing districts. She was startled from he observations by Nick clearing his throat. Looking around, she noticed that they were at the entrance to an alleyway, closed at the end, with a door into the building on the left. Her instincts went on full alert, but were attenuated by him adding, "The door's into my apartment block. I had thought..."

Falling into silence, he ambled into the alley, heading for the door, and she followed him, trying to--

_"I see the boy did his work."_

The hisses and sputters, shoddily assimilated into a full language, was one that she could recognize and understand even without her suit's on-board computer system. Zebesian. She turned to look at Nick furiously. "You fucking _traitor_," she spat, making it sound a curse for eternal damnation. "Your planet, _your species, _for a _lie?_"

"Y-you don't understand," Nick called to her remorsefully. "They killed my family, one-by-one... all I have left are my parents. Please... they said they would spare them if I helped... I didn't know... I didn't..." he sobbed, bursting into tears. Imp couldn't blame his emotional condition at the moment, and frankly was slightly occupied. A hiss from above caused her to roll forward, causing the diving Pirate to ram its claw into the concrete instead of her body; its head came up, yellow eyes glaring, and it pulled extricated its hand from the ground with a bit of difficulty.

"Sssso, human child, you are one of the great _Guardianssssss_, correct?" it asked in Basic bastardized with sibilant hisses on the S's. "We know how good you are, even unarmed. As we ssssspeak, I have transsssmitted my location to a team of Elitessss, who would gladly face the regular 'army' of thisssss planet to neutralize you, even in thissss urban ssssetting."

Imp considered that. A squadron of the large 3-story Phazon Elite Pirates, probably with a cadre of trooper handlers? Not something she wished to face in civilian capacity, and not something to bring into the city. The grunt was right; the Elites would attract a shitload of attention from the Planetary Guard, an army nowhere near the abilities of the Federation but capable of holding its own on Earth. The last thing the planet needed was a full-out urban war.. She raised her chin, holding her head high defiantly. "So, Pirate," she said coldly, "do you think to hold me here yourself?"

It laughed, an affair almost like controlled sputtering, and raised its right arm, on which was mounted a light Pirate energy weapon. Not terribly powerful, but enough for its purposes. She carefully shifted herself, seemingly idly, loosening the holstered pistol and getting in an ideal position for a quick-draw-style engagement. She hardly wanted to enter such a chancy situation, even when she was fully equipped with sensors and systems that would automate damned near everything, but she had to make tracks. She also had to find out from this pirate where there was a place on the planet where _Elites_ were able to congregate unnoticed.

She was saved by the most bizarre of graces – a roaring gasoline engine, vintage, powering an ancient automobile through the streets behind the alleyway; the comparatively loud sound, something not usually heard on Earth streets anymore, caused the Pirate to glance backwards slightly before reassessing its own priorities and turning to cover Imp again.

The Guardian had immediately gone into battle-mode, though, and time seemed to dilate as she whipped back her jacket and grabbed the handle of her sidearm. The Zebesian's weapon discharged, and she felt an uncomfortable burning in her left leg, but she refused to acknowledge it as she drew her weapon and fired it in one clean motion, catching the pirate in the chest – dead-center of mass, just as she was always drilled. Resisting the desire to double-tap the alien in the head, she instead sighted on its right arm, firing a quick burst of shots and forcing the Pirate to drop the weapon with an angry hiss. Lunging forward, she sprinted at the target, diving into it and taking it to the ground. Pinning her gun in one of its eyes and standing on its clawed arms, she leaned forward until she was nearly face-to-face with it.

"Tell me where the team comes from," she began, and ended, it turned out. The Pirate's mouth began foaming, and she recognized the effects of a neurotoxin 'suicide pill' – self-termination protocols designed to keep a Pirate operative out of enemy hands. Well and all that she had not died, but now Imp had to pass on the message that a high-ranking Zebesian operative had been in New Chicago and had somehow remained undetected... unsettling, to say the least, for humanity's supposedly secure planet. Sighing, she got off of the creature and turned to eye the cowering Nick. She purposefully strode over, and placed her weapon's barrel into his temple.

"OH, PLEASE, GOD, DON'T KILL ME!" he shrieked in pure horror. She clamped his mouth shut with her unoccupied hand.

"Listen to me closely. Do not make any noise unless I ask you to answer a question. Is that clear?" She didn't wait for his nod before continuing. "Now. Answer me this: was your family collaborators before this?" She released his jaw.

"No, no, we never worked with them before oh please I'm too young to diMMMPPH!" he mumbled as she shut his mouth again.

"There is no way they just chose a random family to fuck with. They aren't that stupid. Nor are they smart enough to simply nuke the entire city to destroy me. Where are your parents now? I'll assume that this isn't really your house," she said dryly, gesturing to the door with her head.

"Yes, it is my house," he said when she had released him again. "No, my parents aren't here. They went into hiding, I think it was. I was forced to stay here because, well, I was the important part of their plan." Good, no cries for mercy this time.

"Thank you, Nick. That will be all." Exhaling what must have been a long-held breath, the young man put his face in his hands for a minute, before turning and walking towards the door.

"My apologies," the Guardian said, and he didn't even have the chance to turn before she blasted the back of his skull with her pistol. It didn't take off his head, but it left a decent hole. Whipping out her datapad, she took quick note of the overall nature of the 'crime scene' and punched in a variety of commands. She heard a simulated ringing in her ear as the communicator initialized.

"Authenticate," a toneless computer voice asked.

"Unit 505, authentication code 51239807412," Imp replied automatically. "Switch to encryption 7-Delta, code Gamma."

"Better be a damned good reason for this, Imp," came a harsh voice through her ear. Overlord, Unit 132, was a first-generation Guardian, no longer satisfactory for combat conditions as judged by the brass (compared to what the current generation was capable of); he also happened to be the functional logistics leader of the Guardians. "I am not going to have sleepers calling Broken Arrows, because the implies shit's going down in the middle of a fucking metropolis. Not something I have any particular desire for, you know?" he asked sardonically.

"Yes, Overlord, that's nice," the girl growled back. "Unfortunately, I might have to tell you something you don't want to hear. Elites are on the way to kill me, and the Pirates don't care how much exposure they'll get or how much heat falls on them." She began limpng quickly away from the scene, looking around inconspicuously as she strode down the sidewalk. "We need a cleanup at this current location, one Zebesian, one human."

"An Eye?"

"Yes, sir," she answered. "This was rather well-planned."

"Who was he – or she? How did they manage to trap you?"

"It was one of my 'classmates', Overlord," she said, and his voice went quiet.

"You killed a minor." It wasn't a question.

"Sir, he was an Eye. You know the directives as well as I do. We do not – _can_ not – leave anyone who has been in contact with Pirates and knows anything about us, coerced or otherwise, alive."

"So was he coerced, then?" the Guardian asked quietly.

"Yes, sir," Imp said, continuing to walk quickly but nonchalantly. "Parents threatened. No, I do not know where they are, nor did the kid. I don't think that they're going to survive him long, once the higher-ups get word of this failure." She drew a sharp breath through her teeth as a pain shot through her leg again, and she looked around quickly. Spotting a bench, she sat on it, examining her leg. A blast wound was certainly there, not severe at all, but enough to keep her from operating at full capacity.

"Monitors show you're hurt, 505, and that sounded an awful lot like a pained breath. Are you operational?"

"Suitless, but I'm operational. Headed towards Drop Point Kilo at the moment. Think you could dispatch The Truck for me?" The Truck was the nickname for the Mobile Equipment/Guardian Armor Transport, essentially a Guardian armory on wheels. The MEGA Transport carried on-board up to a half-dozen armors (depending on individual sizes), as many equipment loadouts for each, and a cache of power cells for those unusual situations.

"What's your E.T.A. To Kilo, 505?" Overlord asked hurriedly.

"5 minutes, tops. Kid chose a good place to have a house."

"Teams'll be on-location by that time. What's your course of action?"

"My first priority, sir, is keeping the damned Elites out of New Chicago, and obviously exterminate them when the opportunity presents itself. After that, I haven't the foggiest, to be quite honest." Imp was considering her plans even as she stood up and began the journey to the Drop Point again. "I'll need to find out where they're based, figure out how we have a full Elite team on Earth. I'll keep you updated, Overlord."

"Right, 505. Good luck, and good hunting." The communicator snapped off with a finality about it.

_He didn't even ask if I would need reinforcement,_ Imp thought to herself, slightly amazed, but her thoughts quickly sobered at facing a group of the massive Elites by herself. _This... should be fun._

* * *

Quick Note. I'll keep my A/Ns short and to the point:

Yes, right now I am focusing on two teenager characters. No, this isn't going to be full of angsty rebellion and some sort of Kim Possible-esque "Regular girl by day, superhero by night" bullshit. Yes, I will have other protagonists -- I'm looking at 4 right now, by what I have written out in my plans at the moment. Don't worry, action will come, shit'll hit the fan, and you'll see all kinds of cool stuff going down. In the meantime, thanks for reading, and I appreciate any feedback I get, positive or negative. Just so long as I know I'm not getting one guy reading my story 40 times over and over again, I guess.


End file.
